


The View

by Anarkanex



Series: Markiplier One-Shots [1]
Category: Mark Fischbach/You - Fandom, Markiplier x Reader - Fandom, Markiplier/reader - Fandom, Markiplier/you - Fandom
Genre: One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 17:50:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7943665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anarkanex/pseuds/Anarkanex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was both of your faults. You said some things, he said some things, and now the two of you were three thousand miles apart. But Mark just can't let things go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The View

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm starting a series of Markiplier x Reader one-shots, all of which are inspired by songs. I dunno how many of them I'll do, but probably a lot. Each will be different, and if you REALLY want a story made out of it, let me know and I just might do it! 
> 
> Inspired by The View by April  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BhoItG94rPA

She'd been away from him for months. Originally, it was supposed to be four weeks. An art program, something exciting at the time. Now, it just seemed stupid. What was supposed to be four exciting weeks in the 'Big Apple' had turned into an avalanche of angry episodes and regretful words. What was worse was now there was nothing. No fights, no apology texts at three a.m., no lonely calls. Nothing. It was supposed to be four weeks.

The last fight had been the worst. That had been three months ago - when they were still talking for hours before bed - and he'd begged her to come home. She'd gotten angry, said he was trying to rob her of this opportunity just because he couldn't sleep alone at night. He'd gotten angry, too, and it had spiraled out of control. Every bit of bitter loneliness, every restless night, every cranky morning; all of them had blended together in one night and exploded in her face. It was different from other nights when their tensions ran high. He didn't call in the morning.

So that had been it. They'd had one brief, bitter call, talking about how he'd learned a lot with her gone, and she was finding New York more exciting anyway. Every word from her lips had been a knife to her heart, but she'd spat them at him anyway. She'd dipped her tongue in venom and hurled it at him with every bone in her body. She regretted nothing more than not calling him back.

The bed was too big with just her in it. Even though she'd tried putting extra pillows on his side of the mattress, tried sleeping in the dip in the middle, nothing worked. The bed was as empty as the hole in her heart.

She couldn't even get a drawing done. Every figure she sketched looked like him, and she hadn't been to class in three days. Had she been any more weak-minded, she'd have checked his channel to see if he was taking it as hard as she was. However, her strong will and stubborn head wouldn't let her give in that much.

"God dammit," She grumbled under her breath, tossing her pencil down in frustration. Yet another male figure that looked just like him. The square jaw, the hint of a beard he'd spent so long growing. The glasses, though rounder than his, still framed his small, slanted eyes as if they were meant to be there. It made her chest ache just to gaze at the drawing, knowing fully well that her hands had betrayed her feelings weeks ago.

She'd have crumpled up the paper, but her heart wouldn't let her. Instead, she added it to the folder she'd started, bitterly acknowledging how much it looked like all of her other drawings. As she went to tuck the folder back into the drawer of her desk, her phone started ringing from the table beside her bed.

She didn't glance at who it was before she pressed it to her ear, sliding the lock screen to the right. "Hello?"

"Baby." The voice was music to her ears. A lonely, haunting melody that both pulled at her seams and stitched her back together.

She chewed on her lip, already feeling a heaviness settling on her shoulders. "Mark?"

"Baby, I'm so sorry." His voice was so tired and vulnerable that it nearly broke her heart. "I should've called sooner, I'm so sorry."

"I-it's okay." She wedged her phone between her ear and her shoulder, grabbing a pair of pajamas out of the drawer next to her bed. As she grasped them in her hand, she heard a knock on the door to her hotel room. "One second."

Still grasping the worn t-shirt - _his_ t-shirt - she approached the door, twisting the handle and pulling it open.

Sure enough, there he was.

His hair was disheveled in the way that she knew meant he hadn't been taking care of himself. His stubble was a little over-grown, and his glasses were askew on the bridge of his nose. Had she not known better, she wouldn't have noticed the dark circles under his eyes and the way his lips twitched when he saw her.  He looked as though he were going to break down any second.

"No, it's not okay." He pulled his phone away from his ear, grasping it firmly in his hand. She was completely frozen. Having him here, within arm's reach, was too much to process. "I...I was an asshole, and I can't _believe_ I let myself hang up on you. I can't believe I didn't call you back." He looked at her then, eyes raw with emotion. "I'm _so sorry_ I didn't call you back."

Instead of answering, she threw herself at him, burying her face into his shoulder. His reaction to her was immediate; he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her firmly against his chest, one hand pressing her closer by the small of her back, and the other gently grasping the back of her head. "Dammit, Mark," She huffed into his neck, feeling tears well up in her eyes, "You' re such an idiot."

"I know I am." He shifted his weight just enough to guide the two of them into her hotel room, pushing the door shut behind him. He'd barely pushed the lock into the slot before he pulled her back into his chest again. "I'm the biggest fucking idiot in the world."

She let out a small, pitiful laugh. "It's okay." (Y/N) took a moment to enjoy the feeling of his arms around her. It had been so long, _too_ long.

He pulled back, hands resting softly on her shoulders. "It's not okay, but I'm going to make it up to you."

It was then that she noticed the small suitcase he'd been wheeling behind him. She didn't like how hopeful her voice sounded when she whispered, "You're staying?"

Mark nodded, eyes transfixed on her own. "Until your program is done. Then I want us to go home, together." He grabbed for her hands and brought them to his lips. "As long as you still want to come home."

Her heart wrenched. "Of course I want to come home, you big doof," She murmured, swatting his chest. "I've wanted to come home for so long." She couldn't help the tears that began to well up in her eyes. She'd been missing him for _three_ _and a half months,_ and fuck if she was going to pretend like it hadn't been painful.

Mark noticed the tears and frowned, looking sad. "Oh, _baby,_ no," He murmured, swiping his thumbs under her eyes. "I'm so sorry. I'm such an idiot. I'm so sorry."

She leaned into his touch. "I'm sorry, too." Sighing, (Y/N) grabbed for his hand with her own and pulled him into her bedroom, anxious to finally have him in her bed again.

Mark was eyeing her make-shift pillow nest when she looked up, brow raised in her direction. "So you did it too, huh?"

She frowned, confused. "Did what?"

He laughed sheepishly, scratching at the back of his head. "I, um...," He motioned to her side of the bed, "I did the same thing, on your side. Only I used your pillows." He was smiling now, cheeks flushed in embarrassment. "They smell like you."

She felt a small swelling in her chest and giggled, unable to hide the smile that touched her lips. As she began to change into her pajamas, hardly shy in front of the man she'd been dating for two years, she motioned to the shirt she'd been sleeping in. "This smells like you."

Mark's eyes widened. "So _that's_ where my King of the Squirrels t-shirt went!" He laughed and watched as she pulled it over her head, the hem of it brushing against her upper thighs. "That's alright. You look better in it anyway."

She grinned, plopping down onto the bed. "Damn right I do."

He chuckled, doing a small stroll around her small hotel room. Mark noticed her art materials spread out across the desk and looked at her, curious. "How _is_ your class going?"

She shrugged. "Alright, I guess. I haven't had any inspiration lately." She sat up enough to watch him, feeling her heart skip a beat when his expression shifted.

"I get that, filming has been a nightmare." Mark ran a hand through his hair, letting out a heavy sigh. "The more perceptive fans have noticed the change in my attitude lately. A lot of them were asking about you." A sad half-smile touched his lips. "I didn't say anything, though."

She just watched him, nodding. "My instructor noticed the difference in my art."

"What kind of difference?" He seemed genuinely curious now.

(Y/N) motioned to the desk drawer. "In that folder is everything I've drawn in the last three months." A soft giggle escaped her lips. "Tell me if you notice anything."

He did as she said and grabbed the folder, flipping through the pages contained within. After a few seconds of him making soft sounds and turning the pages back and forth, he looked up at her, his expression so sad that it brought her physical pain.

She suddenly felt the need to explain herself. "I...I _tried_ drawing other things. I tried to vary my technique, or draw specific people, but...They all came out like you." She laughed, almost bitterly. "Like the viking. He just looks like you, with a huge beard and more definition in your shoulders."

Mark still hadn't said anything.

She sighed nervously. "I'm not trying to guilt-trip you or anything, please don't think...What I mean is...I _tried,_ Mark, I-"

She was cut off as he suddenly dropped the folder and clamored onto the bed, his hand snaking out and grasping her jaw softly but firmly. He pressed his lips to hers, effectively silencing her breathy explanation, and the kiss was so full of passion and love that she nearly forgot where she was.

As he pulled away, she tried to catch her breath, eyes welling up again. "Mark-"

"Shhhh, (Y/N)," He murmured, sitting back just enough to look at her. His fingers brought her chin upwards, forcing her eyes to his. His expression was serious. "There has not been I day that I haven't thought about you, every second." He kissed her nose. " _Every_ second."

She just sniffled and nodded, pressing her forehead against his. "Me too."

He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and used the others to put the pillows back up at the top of the bed. When the space was cleared, Mark pulled back the blankets and pulled her down with him, using his grasp on her shoulders to pull her back against him.

She reached up and turned out the lamp, a soft sigh escaping her lips. She'd missed the feeling of his warmth against her spine. The room was cold without him in it. "Hey, Mark?"

"Yeah?" He murmured into her hair, sounding tired.

"I love you." She rolled over to face him, finding his eyes wide open and already focused on her. "So much."

"I love you too." He placed a gentle kiss on her lips and pulled her closer into his chest, a heavy sigh pushing past his lips. He seemed relieved, like a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. "And I want you to keep doing this program. Or whatever program you want to do. You put up with so much shit for my job, I...I should let you have something like this." He sighed again, "And-"

"I'm coming home tomorrow." She grinned, tucking a wild strand of his hair back up over his forehead.

Mark frowned. "But the class-"

She giggled. "I fucking hate this class, Mark." When his expression shifted to confusion, she giggled again, poking his chest. "Don't get me wrong, the first month was fun. Now it's all snobby twenty-year-old's that think they know everything about art." A grin split her lips. "As much as I love the 'quirky' aesthetic, I just can't handle a kid with a pipe in one hand and a charcoal pencil in the other telling me that the grain of my sketchbook isn't nice enough."

Mark let out a low chuckle, closing his eyes. "God, I love you."

She smiled, kissing him again. "I love you too, Markimoo. Goodnight."

He smiled. She knew he'd missed hearing her call him that. "Goodnight, baby."


End file.
